Snowbound
by jeanie2914
Summary: Neal's tracker shows he is out of his radius as a snowstorm blankets the city. The marshals think he is attempting to flee but Peter knows better.
1. Chapter 1

_If you haven't guessed yet, I am a hurt/comfort fan. Its what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is kinder. So if that's not your thing, then my stories may not be for you. _

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. _

**Chapter One **

The snow was swirling so thickly that could he could barely see where his staggering steps were leading him. He knew he was hurt but what he didn't know was how bad, where he was, or exactly how he had gotten there. Woods surrounded him and he was not the outdoors type. His thinking was unclear, but somehow he felt certain that someone was after him, someone who wanted to finish what they had started. He moved onward, tripping and falling and forcing himself up, until the waning light of the day had faded away. There seemed to be no respite against the wind, no shelter he could detect, and the cold cut him to the bone. It did seemed to have dulled the pain that had been searing white-hot through his mid-section. His judgement may have been impaired but not to the point that he didn't realize that he needed to find shelter. He saw a glimmering of light just ahead and forced himself to move towards it. His body felt stiff and it seemed as if he was moving in slow motion. Finally he reached what was a building; a cabin. He staggered up three steps, stumbling onto a porch. It was covered because his hand felt wood beneath them when he fell instead of snow. He tried to pull himself up, but to his dismay realized that he didn't have the strength. Suddenly, there was a bright light, shining its warmth onto his face. He saw someone in the light, but the face faded into darkness, the warmth, thankfully, remained.

The man was almost kneeling at the door when Derek opened it. The weather was terrible and he had been sure the wind had made the noise on the front porch of his cabin. Still, something had prompted him to open the door. He could not imagine why anyone would be out in such weather, but a look at the man told him there had been some kind of trouble. An accident maybe. The man was nearly frozen-his face was colorless except for a huge bruise around one eye and extending onto the forehead. Derek didn't hesitate but a few seconds, mostly in shock, before he pulled the man out of the weather and into the house. He stepped over him and closed the door. The man's eyes had been open when he had opened the door-he had met his eyes. They were startling blue, even in the darkness, but they had closed almost immediately. They were closed now, as he lay sprawled on the mat in front of the door, dripping wet as the snow that covered his body melted in the heat of the room. He knelt down to take a closer look at his unexpected guest. He looked very young, but his pale and unconscious state may have multiplied that impression. He wasn't even wearing a coat, or gloves, or anything that would indicate he had intended to be out in the weather. There also seemed to be blood on the clothing. Derek felt a wave of concern; how extensive were the wounds? In this weather, there was no traveling. He glanced over to his phone on the counter. He would have to call for help, but cell service was hit or miss in this valley on a good day. In this weather, he doubted he would be able to get through.

"Hey," he said, gently trying to roust the man. There was no response. The man was breathing, but his breaths seemed shallow and rapid. Derek went over to the sofa and moved the pillows out of the way. He then returned to the man, reached down to grab him beneath the arms, and pulled him over to the sofa. The man was not heavy, and it wasn't difficult to get him onto the sofa. Derek fetched a towel from the small closet, and began drying the man, beginning at his drenched head. His skin was cool to the touch. How long had he been exposed to the freezing temperatures of the snow storm? As he worked, he tried to assess the damage the man had sustained. Definitely a blow to the head. He realized that it was indeed blood on the man's shirt. He gently pulled it up to reveal three deep wounds in the man's mid section that were still oozing blood. Derek's eyes went to the man's face in alarm. Thirty years as a police officer, he knew stab wounds when he saw them. Whatever had befallen the man had not been an accident. There were likely internal injuries as well, and large amounts of blood had to have been lost. Derek covered the man and went and picked up his phone. He knew before he even dialed that he had no service, but he pressed 911 just the same. Of course, nothing.

Derek retrieved towels and extra blankets from the bedroom. He pulled a chair up near the fireplace and hung one of the blankets over it, letting it gather warmth. He then went into the small utility room and retrieved the first aid kit. He felt it would likely contain nothing that would help with the severity of injuries the man had sustained, but somehow having it made him feel more equipped to handle the situation. As a police officer he had seen a lot of trauma, but he had always been able to call for assistance and leave the care to people who had the necessary training and knew what to do. Never had he been strained in a blizzard, off grid, with an injured person. As part of his job, however, he had been trained in first aid and some rudimentary emergency medical treatment. The wounds were concerning as was the apparent blow to the head. But as immediate was the possibility that the man was suffering from exposure or hypothermia. There was no way to check his core body temperature, but his skin felt cold to the touch. He had dried him off, but also needed to remove wet clothing. He needed to get the man warm. Returning to the bedroom, he gathered some clothing and returned to the injured man.


	2. Chapter 2

_If you haven't guessed yet, I am a hurt/comfort fan. Its what I like to read and what I like to write. My Neal is more open; my Peter is kinder. So it that's not your thing, then my stories may not be for you. I am updating both stories tonight and leaving for a work related trip tomorrow. Won't be back to play until Tuesday. Thank you for reviewing and following my story; it means a lot!_

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. _

**Chapter Two **

He was pleased that the man seemed to be returning to a somewhat conscious state. He had began to shiver. Shivering indicated that the body was still able to generate some warmth; if the shivering stopped that was a very bad sign. Derek knelt down beside the sofa and spoke to the man.

"Hey," he began, "Can you wake up for me?" He jostled the man gently, and began to unbutton his wet shirt. "We need to get you out of these wet clothes." The man shifted some in response, and his shivering increased, but his eyes did not open. Derek winced at the sight of the stomach wound. The bleeding wasn't heavy; Derek wondered if the lower body temperature was contributing to that. If he was successful in returning the man to a more normal body temperature, blood flow would increase, possibly creating an additional problem. He used what he had on hand to bandage the man as best as he could, then he got him into a dry shirt. The movement required to accomplish this task caused the man to groan in pain. Derek took the warmed blanket from its place near the fireplace and placed it over the man's upper body. Suddenly the blue eyes flew open, and the man, clearly startled, tried to get up. Derek restrained him with a firm hold. He could feel the man's weak struggle but after a few seconds it ceased and the man's eyes locked onto Derek's.

"You are safe," Derek said, he could still feel the man trembling violently in his grasp, "No one's going to hurt you here." He wasn't sure there was understanding in the blue eyes. The immediate panic had given way to confusion. "Can you tell me your name?"

The voice was very faint and came through chattering teeth, "N….Nick."

"Hello, Nick," he answered, "My name is Derek. I need to get these wet clothes off, and get you warm, okay?"

"o….kay," the man answered not looking totally convinced. Derek moved to the other end of the sofa and began to remove the man's shoes. They were not suitable for hiking, that was certain. Nothing about the man's clothes suggested that the woods was a habitat he was accustomed to. He was obviously a city boy. While in his efforts he was surprised to find a tracking device strapped onto the man's left ankle. He knew the purpose of such a device. The man was apparently a criminal on house arrest somewhere; He didn't even need the blinking red light to know that the man was obviously not where he was supposed to be.

This information both concerned and comforted Derek. On one hand, learning that he was stranded in a snow storm with a criminal was troublesome. However on the other, he knew that once the weather cleared and the satellite could send and receive its signal, someone would be arriving to collect the man. He pulled the man's slacks off, his boxers, wet or not, stayed. Derek reached up and pulled the blanket down to cover just below his knees. The blanket still held its warmth from the fire, and he tucked it in around the man's legs and body. He looked back at the man's face; as far as criminals went, this one didn't look too intimidating in his present condition. His eyes were still open, but barely so and the expression in them was dull. His chest rose and fell quickly, his respiration rapid and shallow. He complexion was ashen. Derek added another blanket to the one already in place.

"Peter?" the man whispered softly. Derek looked at the man and shook his head.

"No," Derek shook his head, "it's Derek," he reminded him "You are in my cabin. You were…." he stopped, wondering how much to say. His law enforcement side told him to just lay everything out and demand some answers, but something about the pleading look in the blue eyes stopped him. "injured," he finished. "As soon as the storm clears, I will get help, but right now, I am here with you and you will be okay."

"I'm cold," the man whispered "and I…I think I'm hurt, too."

"I know," Derek agreed, "but you'll be warm soon, and help is coming."

"Peter will come," the man whispered again, eyes drooping, "He'll find me." The man didn't seem in fear of Peter, whoever he was, so Derek guessed he wasn't responsible for his current condition. The man's breathing was sounding more normal and the shivering had began to subside. He was growing more drowsy with each passing moment and having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

"Who is Peter, Nick?" Derek asked in curiosity before the man lost consciousness all together.

"He's my partner,'' the man said "my friend. He always finds me." With that the man's eyes closed and Derek didn't try to wake him.

Derek thought about what the man had said and was glad of the storm. His cabin was about two miles from the main road, as the crow flew, and Derek felt that the man had probably been dumped along the deserted stretch of highway. With his injuries and the cold temperatures, it had probably been viewed as a body disposal sight; he doubted his attackers were looking for him. It was a miracle that Nick had found his way to shelter in this weather, much less accomplished it in his current condition.

He did not see Nick, especially in this state, as a threat; his partner, Peter, might be a different story. Derek went into the kitchen to make some coffee. He would need the caffeine to keep watch over his charge through the night. The storm was supposed to clear by early morning. Hopefully close thereafter, he could hand the man over to whoever he had escaped from and not have to deal with his partner Peter.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you to all who have reviewed, favorited and are following this story...__Just a reminder: this is hurt/comfort so if you don't like that don't read this. _

_As always, I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility!_

**Chapter Three **

Peter dreaded the hours of night; he knew he would not be sleeping. The storm that was blanketing the area was so severe that the search for Neal had been postponed until a break occurred or at least daylight arrived.

Certain things were already in place: bolos, alerts and special reports but the on ground search, which Peter feared was necessary to save his friend's life, could not go on in the current weather situation.

In spite of Peter's insistence that it wasn't the case, the Marshals were proceeding as if Neal had fled his radius to escape federal custody. But since Peter had nothing to offer them other than his gut feeling and his knowledge of Neal, they could only follow protocol. If Neal had decide to run, he wouldn't have done so wearing a tracking device. The alert that he was out of his radius had been reported to both Peter and the Marshal's office at just after five in the afternoon and calls to his phone went straight to voice mail without ringing. The weather had been bad all day and by afternoon it was already deteriorating to the point that it was interfering with the satellite signal. The Marshals thought that could be the reason Neal had chosen this particular time to leave but Peter could not understand their reasoning; Neal could just cut the anklet and leave. He wouldn't leave it on and be tracked. Add to the fact that Mozzie hadn't heard from Neal either and it left only one option; Neal had left his radius against his will. Someone had taken him.

The sketchy tracking data cut out completely once the storm had deepened, blocking all signal. The last known location was along highway 106 just off of interstate 87 in the area between Tuxedo Park and Southfield. They thought he had stopped there because of the storm. There had been three different readings, spaced several minutes apart, that were stationary. All other locations had been in progression along the highway. The last signal had came through just before seven, and Marshal's and local law enforcement officers had converged on the location. The storm was severe and darkness was fast approaching. There was nothing at the location; it was just a piece of highway, surrounded by forests on both sides. Peter, fearing that Neal had been tossed out of a moving vehicle, had insisted the marshal's search along the highway. They had found nothing but anything short of a body would have been buried in the snow that was piling up. Even evidence that someone had been there would have been covered beneath the rapidly falling snow.

The marshal's would not use all their resources on the premise that Neal was still in the area. They had to take into consideration that he may have continued on to some unknown destination. Still, the search of the area had continued until darkness and worsening conditions had stopped the efforts.

Peter hoped that Neal had continued along the highway, even with whomever had taken him, because it seemed a better scenario than the other one; Neal was somewhere in the wooded areas in a snowstorm. If that was the case, the chances of finding him alive were slim. It was going to be a very long night and even though his house was warm, Peter felt chilled to the bone.

Nick began to shiver again just after ten, moving restlessly upon the sofa. Derek took this as an indication that the man's body temperature was still below normal, but he was not unpleased by that. He had been careful to warm the man slowly to avoid strain on the heart, and also careful to warm the man's core before the extremities to reduce the risk of shock. He had kept watch on the wounds in the man's stomach during the process as well. Even though he had seen an increase in the blood seeping from the bandages, it was not at an alarming rate. But Derek had no way of knowing if the man was suffering from internal bleeding. In the man's current state, with so many possible competing issues, it was hard to know what symptoms were representing. His unconscious state could be caused from exhaustion, hypothermia, hypovolemic shock or even the blow to the head he had taken; the bruise across his forehead had worsened over the past hours.

He approached the man, who was now muttering, and found that his skin was no longer cool to the touch. It was quite warm. Another possibility came to mind; infection. He took a look at the stab wounds again. He had cleaned the wounds as well as he could while the man had slept, but they had continued to bleed. There was no discoloration in his abdomen but he did feel a warmness around the wounds that concerned him. The storm was still raging outside; there was no calling for help and no travel possible. He and Nick would be forced to wait it out and hope for an early break in the storm.

"I gotta go," up until now, the man's words had been unintelligible, but now they were more clear. His eye's opened and were again full of panic. "They will be coming for me…." He looked around the room as if expecting to find them already there. His voice, although weak, was insistent. Was it the police he was expecting or the person who had stabbed him? Derek assumed either one might elicit fear from the man.

"You are safe, Nick," the man put a hand on his shoulder firmly, anticipating an effort to rise even though he was sure the man would be unable to accomplish it. He did not want rash movement to encourage any additional bleeding from his wounds. "No one can get you here, rest."

"They _thought_ I was Nick," the man said, almost conspiratorially, the touch apparently calming him, "and they took me, but I wasn't being him, I was being me."

His words told Derek that the man was still confused, possibly delirious with fever. "You weren't _being_ Nick," Derek repeated, "so _who_ were you being?"

"I was being _me_," the man said again. Derek had thought the man looked young when he had been lying unconscious on the floor but somehow the openness in his face made him look even more so now.

"And you are?" Derek pressed for an answer. The blue eyes had an unnatural shine to them and he was sure the man would be honest in his current state. Pain, fever and delirium did not aid in duplicity.

"I'm Neal," he said.

"So your name is Neal and not Nick?" Was the man just impaired because of his injuries or was he mentally ill?

"Sometimes, it just depends," the man answered, then his face clouded, "Is Peter here?" His voice grew fainter as his energy abandoned him, but he still looked around the room, this time for his rescuer instead of pursuer.

"Not yet," Derek answered, then "Is Peter Nick's partner or Neal's?"

"He's partners with both of them," Neal muttered, eyes drooped heavily now. "He should have been here already…." His voice trailed off and the eyes closed.

Partners with both of them? Derek sighed, perhaps the man was insane. He sounded truthful but nothing he had said had made sense. Derek took the opportunity to switch out the blanket for a lighter sheet. Having worried about his patient's body temperature being too low, now he was concerned in the opposite direction. For the time being Derek gave up on the puzzle of who the man was; hopefully help, and answers, would arrive when the storm cleared in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to you all who are following this story, for reading and reviewing. __I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. _

**Chapter Four **

Nick, or Neal, slept fitfully. He moved about restlessly and often mumbled in such a way that Derek couldn't understand his words. He would roust somewhat but he was distressed; at times he moaned in obvious pain. Derek had tried to get the man to take Tylenol, but he had refused to take the pills. It wasn't much, but anything to combat the fever was better than nothing. After dissolving three tablets in water, the man had obediently drank them upon Derek's insistence. Of course, he hadn't told him there was anything in the glass but water, and in his state of mind, he hadn't noticed the bitter taste or gritty texture. It was fairly easy to fool a semi-conscious man fighting for his life, Derek thought wryly. His intermittent rest, if it could be called such, was marked with sudden awakenings.

"I can take care of that for you," he blurted suddenly. Derek looked at him in surprise; he didn't even know he had awakened. But it was clear from the expression in the man's eyes that he was not lucid, "I just need a few minutes and a place to work." There was a touch of desperation in the tone; an eagerness to please.

"Okay," Derek humored him, taking the cloth from his head, dunking it into the pan of cold water. He had been doing this all night. He twisted the cloth to remove excess water, and then wiped the man's hot forehead, "Just relax-" he stopped, "Neal? Nick?" He felt guilt immediately at the look of panic on the man's face and tried to backtrack, "It's okay, it doesn't matter, just relax."

"Do you want Neal or Nick?" the man implored, becoming more agitated "Why did you take me? What do you want from me?" Derek placed his hand on the man's arm, gently squeezing in an attempt to ease his fear. "I didn't take you," Derek said, "I am trying to help you. You were hurt, do you remember?"

"Yes," he answered, "I remember. I did what they wanted but," his voice dropped to a whisper, blue eyes suddenly filling with tears, "I'm pretty sure they're gonna kill me anyway."

"No," Derek shook his head, trying to assure him, "no one is going to kill you. They are gone. You are safe here."

"Are you sure?' he whispered uncertainly, "It don't feel safe. They might come back for me."

"I'm sure," Derek responded. "There is a terrible storm. No one is out looking for you in this."

"Peter will be," the man answered. "nothing stops him."

"Well this storm would stop even Peter," Derek said. He paused, his law enforcement curiosity getting the better of him "The people who took you, what did they want you to do?"

"Needed some documents," the man answered. "I tried to stall….to buy time until Peter could find me," his voice was growing weaker and Derek could barely hear him, "but the weather….getting worse….they were... impatient."

"Rest," Derek said, still mopping his brow with the cool cloth, "No one is going to bother you here. As soon as the storm breaks, we will get you to the hospital and they will fix you up."

His eyes, which had been closed opened suddenly, "I don't want to go anywhere without Peter," his eyes were distressed, "He needs to be here. Where is he?"

The look of pleading in the man's eyes tugged at a heart that years of police work had hardened. Criminal or not, Peter represented security to this man. Derek looked into the fevered eyes, and gently squeezed his arm again, "He's coming, don't worry. He will be here."

That brought a small sigh of relief from the man, and he quieted. He rested peacefully for almost two hours before he began again to grow restless and mutter. He awakened several times, startled by his surroundings and concerned for his safely. Derek reminded him each time that he was safe and that no one would hurt him. Derek began asking him his name each time he was conscious enough to speak and was fascinated to find that he sometimes answered Nick and at other times Neal. But it didn't matter which one he claimed to be at the time the conversation, sometimes very disjointed and hard to follow, always drifted to the mysterious Peter. Sometimes the man would call out to Peter, at others he would ask for him. But he was always certain that he was coming. On one occasion he had awakened, not afraid of whomever had hurt him, but concerned that the "Marshals" would find him before Peter. Apparently, in the man's fevered mind, Peter could not only protect him from the people who had tried to kill him, but also from the Marshals who would try to take him back into custody. He became agitated but Derek managed to reassure him, and he quieted again. Derek knew that someone was tracking the man; if it was the Marshals he must be in Federal custody. He left the man and refreshed the bowl of water, adding ice to keep it cold. He dipped the cloth, rung it out, folded it and placed it on the man's forehead. He sat himself in the chair and watched the man sleep, wondering what his story was. He was young but Derek knew from experience that even the young could get themselves into a world of trouble. This was apparently the world that Nick, or Neal, lived in.


	5. Chapter 5

_I miscalculated: There will be more than six chapters to this story. I think seven will do it. This is hurt/comfort so if you don't like that, don't read this. For those who are reading, thanks for all the nice reviews. They make me smile all through the day. Also, thanks to all who are following this story. _

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Five **

The night passed and the early hours of the morning began. Derek felt that he had been tending the man for days instead of hours. But the coffee was working, and Derek felt alert and ready for whatever came. The storm continued at a fury outside, and he felt sure the only complications he was likely to face would be the deteriorating health of the man currently on his sofa. In spite of the man's confidence in his partner, Derek doubted that Peter had superhuman strength or the ability to be impervious to the brutal weather raging outside the cabin. The chances of him barging in to rescue his friend were slim to none. None is what Derek was counting on; It was the arrival of law enforcement, apparently U.S. Marshals, that he was anticipating with the arrival of morning and the departure of the storm.

"Where am I?" Derek was startled by what sounded like a coherent question. The man had been sleeping soundly, and Derek took this to mean that the fever had at least lessened to some degree. He looked towards the man and the blue eyes met his. For the first time they didn't seem fearful; only confused. Despite the lucidity of his question, his eyes still shown with fever.

"You are in my cabin," Derek explained, trying to determine the man's mental state, "Near Southfield."

That didn't seem to clear up the confusion in the man's face. His voice was quiet. "Did you bring me here?" As usual, the man didn't remember any of the previous conversations.

Derek shook his head, "No I didn't. You brought yourself here."

The man's brow furrowed as he contemplated that information. "How did I…." He paused before continuing "What happened?" the change in his tone as well as the look in his eyes indicated the usual fear was returning. Before, he had remembered at least part of what had happened. That now had apparently left him.

"I don't know," Derek knew some but didn't know if he should share. Keeping the man calm had become a big part of his tactic to keep him alive until help could arrive. He reached for the glass of water he had nearby, spiked with Tylenol "You were hurt. You just appeared on my porch. Drink." The man obeyed, Derek helping him navigate the straw and take few sips, but even that slight movement caused pain. He grimaced, hand going to his mid-section.

"I'm Derek," Derek said, for the sixth time since he met the man. "And you are?" At present, the man had evenly divided himself between being Nick and being Neal.

The man's eyes closed tightly. "It doesn't matter who I am," his voice was edged with panic, "This is bad. I shouldn't be here."

"Its okay," Derek assured him, putting a hand on the man's forearm to calm him. "You're safe and when the storm stops, help will come. "

"Peter," he whispered. Help to the man meant Peter, this much Derek knew. The pale face relaxed and after a few moment, he again slept. Derek sighed, taking his place in the chair again. Nick or Neal? He'd have to wait until next time for the tie breaker.

The morning hours passed slowly but no additional opportunity to ask the man's name arose. At times, he would sleep relatively peacefully. Derek would find himself dozing but when the fever would rise, he would be awakened by the man's restless movement or incoherent mumbling. When the man's forehead literally burned Derek's palm, Derek used snow packed into plastic bags, wrapped in towels, to make makeshift ice packs. These he placed around the man's head and neck, trying to bring the fever down. His patient tried to fight against him, shivering violently, but his hands flailed uselessly. Derek tried to explain his actions, but he knew the man didn't hear or understand him. The fever continued to be a battle and Derek worried about the infection that had to be ravaging the young man's body. He kept checking the wounds, but there was very little he could do to stop the obvious infection. He did not perceive any marked discoloration or hardness of the abdomen that would indicate internal bleeding. If he had, still, there would have been nothing he could do but wait and try to ease the man's suffering as best he could. In all his years, he had never tended to a sick or injured person. It seemed foreign to him in the beginning but as exhaustion set in instinct took over. It seemed strange to be speaking softly and reassuringly to a man he didn't even know. He didn't speak that way to people he did know. But then again, he thought, that probably made it easier. He didn't know the man. And after the Marshal's took him away, he would never see him again. But he would have answers about him. He would know if he was Nick or Neal, why he was in federal custody and how he had come to be on his porch during the worst storm of the decade.

At one point, his patient cried out loudly and tried to spring up from his place on the sofa. Derek restrained him, surprised by the sudden burst of energy that nearly brought the man out into the floor. Derek hadn't thought he had that in him; his struggles against the ice packs had been weak, to say the least. Derek had to keep holding him as he fought to get up, to go to only his mind knew where. Derek spoke calmly to him, but he continued to struggle. He had an unnatural strength; His eyes were wide. He did not seem to be seeing the cabin or Derek at all. It was as if the man was seeing something else. Real or imagined; it was a source of terror that made him desperate to escape. After several moments, his strength left him, and Derek felt him grow limp in his arms. His relief evaporated as the man began to weep uncontrollably, his body racked by sobs. Derek could only imagine what pain this had to cause to the man's midsection, but the emotional pain was far more obvious.

Derek was at a loss. Tending a wounded man was hard enough. He didn't know what to do with raw emotion. All he could do was speak quietly to the man, still holding on to him, rocking him in what he hoped was a comforting way. After a few minutes of continual reassurance, the man finally began to quiet, and Derek lowered him back onto the sofa. Derek hardly remembered what he had said; it was hard to comfort someone suffering acute emotional distress when you didn't even know their name, or what experience they were reliving. Even so, Derek had spoken reassuringly, stroked the man's head, and said all the things a person said when they didn't know what to say. And it had worked. The emotional outburst had run its course, leaving the man even weaker than before; he again slipped into unconsciousness. Derek looked at the clock. Four thirty. The storm outside the windows seemed less intense than it had been. No sleep and dealing with both the man's physical and emotional state had left Derek more than exhausted himself. He sat down in the soft chair near where the injured man lay. Morning and help were just a few hours away, and he really hoped the man would sleep, outburst free, until that time.


	6. Chapter 6

_Okay, I will extend the story a bit past seven chapters. I just won't say how many since I might be encouraged to change my count. Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing and encouraging me to keep at it. It really is a lot of fun and the reviews just make my day. Nothing brightens a boring meeting like getting an alert on my phone that a review has been posted :)_

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Six **

"Federal Agents!"

Derek was startled from a deep sleep he didn't realize he had achieved. Having been in a state of hyper-vigilance for so long, he instinctively responded by springing from where he had been reclining in the chair.

"Don't move," the men standing in his living room held guns and appeared quite threatening. One held up a badge "US Marshals Service." He came to his senses and stopped his movement, raising his hands to indicate that he was not resisting, attempting to flee or a threat. Again his thirty years of experience benefited him.

"My name is Derek Andrews and I am a retired police officer from the 31st Precinct. I've been expecting you," hands still raised, he looked at the man who lay lifeless on the sofa, "He needs immediate medical attention."

One of the agents had holstered his weapon before Derek finished speaking, hastily approaching the sofa and kneeling down by the man. "Neal," he said, a hand going to the fevered brow, the look on his face was one of serious concern, "Neal, can you hear me?" he ruffled the sweat drenched hair in what Derek could only be see as an unexpected gesture of affection. Not the way he had expected the marshals to handle the man. "Neal?"

That at least answered one question; the man, at least to the federal agents, was Neal and not Nick. Neal didn't respond to the effort to awaken him. The other agents had also holstered the weapons; one man called for a bus to transport the man to the hospital. The questions began. Derek explained that he had found the man, suffering from exposure as well as stab injuries to the mid-section, on his porch the evening before. "I have no idea how he got here," Derek said, "I assumed he was dumped along the road and in his confused state thought going into the woods was safer than staying along the highway."

"Has he been conscious at all?" one of the agents asked, "Did he tell you what happened to him?"

"No, not really," Derek answered. The concerned agent was doing a deliberate check on the man's injuries; there was a sharp intake of breathe at the sight of the stab wounds. "He said someone took him. He's been in and out all night, but hasn't made a lot of sense," Derek continued, "He's running a fever, is in a lot of pain and he's scared."

"Scared of what?" There was surprise in the question as the agent covered the man again with the sheet.

"I think of who ever did this to him and being found by the Marshals." Derek explained. He frowned and then added, "He has a partner, though, and he seemed to think he was looking for him, too."

"A partner?" This came from the agent who had questioned him.

"Yes," Derek continued, "that's what he talked about the most, this friend of his. He kept saying that he would find him and that he would make everything okay."

"Did he say who this partner was?"

"Yes," Derek told him, "His name is Peter." He looked at Neal who shifted slightly, "He's really important to him; the thought of him coming is the only thing that has brought him any comfort." The agent had a peculiar expression on his face and he shot a look at the agent who was still kneeling by sofa. He didn't seem concerned by the news; he almost had a smile on his face.

The conversation had apparently awakened, at least to some degree, the injured man. His eyes, bright with fever, opened. "Peter?' the man whispered, "is that you?" His hand moved as if to grasp the man beside him.

Derek was about to explain that this had happened several times in the night; that in his delirious state he had kept asking for Peter. But before he could do so the agent beside Neal answered:

"Yeah, Neal," the agent's smile was warm, "It's me; its Peter." The agent grabbed Neal's hand in his own. The relief on the young man's face was only matched by that on the agent's face. The partner was evidently not a partner in crime; and judging from the way the agent was behaving, the feeling of friendship was a mutual one. Derek was more than a little surprised at this revelation.

"I didn't tell them, Peter," Neal whispered, voice shaking with weakness, "They didn't know about the anklet and I didn't tell them."

"That's good," the agent answered, "that was smart, Neal. We are going to get you to the hospital and they will fix you up."

"Knew you'd find me," he said, eyes closing again, "You always do."

Derek, not wanting to interrupt the reunion, could wait no longer.

"_You're_ Peter?" his tone indicated both his surprise and curiosity.

The man didn't raise from his place beside his friend, but he looked at Derek with a proud, if tired, smile, "I am. Agent Peter Burke, FBI."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for reading my story…I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. Awfully tired tonight... pardon any errors._

**Chapter Seven **

"I must say I am more pleased to meet you than I expected to be, _Agent_ Peter Burke, FBI" Derek said humorously, sitting down heavily in the chair he had previously been sleeping in. "I have to admit I didn't see that coming." Movement from the man on the sofa interrupted further discussion. Burke placed his hand on Neal's forehead. "The stab wounds looks bad," his voice was heavy with concern as he looked at Derek, "And he's burning up."

"I know," Derek agreed, "I spent half my time trying to warm him up and the other half trying to cool him down. But all in all, I think he's holding his own."

"Do you?" The agent didn't seem convinced. After spending the past twelve hours with the man, Derek had grown accustomed to his appearance. But he could understand Agent Burke's reaction at the sight of his friend. The man looked terrible. He was pale except for spots on his cheeks that were blushed with fever, and his forehead was discolored by the bruise which had deepened in color as the hours had passed. Add to that the sight of his mid-section, and he didn't make a promising picture of health.

The picture wasn't improved as the man began again to move restlessly on the sofa. His eyes were not open but they could see movement beneath his closed lids. Hands plucking at the sheet that covered him, his head begin to turn from side to side. "Peter will come," he began to mutter, his face showing the familiar pain and distress Derek had seen all night "he's coming…he will find me…."

"I'm here, Neal," his friend insisted, squeezing his hand as his concern grew. He stroked the man's damp head gently, trying to calm his erratic movements. "It's me, Peter, I _did_ find you." His voice was almost as distressed as his friend's.

The blue eyes opened suddenly; the voice was sharp. "I didn't run, tell them I didn't run." He looked desperately around the room. When he saw the dreaded Marshals were present, he grew even more agitated. "I didn't run," he repeated, voice rising "Somebody _took_ me."

"Neal," Agent Burke said firmly, "Neal." When the eyes found his face again he continued. "They _know_ that. They know you didn't run. Everything's gonna to be okay. Just relax." At his friend's reassurance, the man's breathing began to slow, his eyelids grew heavy and closed. But mere seconds later, they opened again.

"Peter?" the man's brow was furrowed in confusion "Is that you?" Burke looked at Derek in alarm at the repeated question, but Derek merely nodded, indicating that this wasn't something new. The man was delirious and had been for several hours.

"Yes," the agent answered. "It's me. You are going to be okay, Neal, you hear me?"

The man sighed in relief, "You're really here."

"Yeah, I'm really here."

"Good," The eyes closed again and this time they stayed that way. Burke breathed a sigh of relief himself.

"He's done that all night," Derek said. The agent looked at him and he explained, "He would wake up, scared or hurting, asking for you." He smiled. "I started telling him you were on your way just to calm him down, even though I thought you were dangerous criminal."

"Oh, yeah," Agent Burke seemed to remember, "he told you I was his partner. I am you know, his partner." He nodded to the tracking device. "He's serving out his sentence as my CI and we work together in the White Collar Division."

"White Collar," he looked at Neal, "Figures. He said the people who took him needed documents, and he didn't seem like the violent type to me. But I must say when I saw the tracking device and heard he was waiting on his partner to find him, I didn't expect it to be an FBI agent. And he said friend, too, and I can see that is also true." It wasn't a question but the tone implied that further explanation wouldn't be unappreciated.

"He's in my custody. Its my job to keep him in line and to protect him," the agent explained, but the way he looked at the injured man, still grasping his limp hand in his own, indicated it was more than that. His next words confirmed it "but I guess its gotten to be more than that. He _is_ a friend, and a partner; truth is he's like a son to me." He seemed almost embarrassed by his confession. "It's…complicated," He finished.

"It didn't seem to be to him," Derek said "all night, even when he wasn't sure who he was, Nick or Neal," Burke smiled at that, "he was sure that you were coming for him. Even delirium didn't shake his faith that you would find him and make everything okay when you did. He has complete confidence in you." He paused as the man seemed to be thinking that over, "So, I take it he is Neal; is he Nick, too?" Derek couldn't help but ask after the night of ambiguity.

"I guess it depends," the agent answered, "But his name is Neal. Neal Caffrey."

Derek shook his head, smiling slightly to himself, "Well, I guess he was telling me the truth. He said the same thing when I asked him: it depends."

"When you asked him what?"

"I asked him his name and sometimes he was Nick and sometimes he was Neal. When I asked which one he was, he said 'It depends.' I thought he was delirious, or maybe insane, but I take it he just has," he paused, and smiled tiredly at Agent Burke, "a _complicated_ life."

The agent sighed heavily, "You have no idea. Nothing, absolutely nothing, about Neal Caffrey is ever simple."


	8. Chapter 8

_Quicker post than I meant to do, but I thought I better get Neal on to the hospital so here he goes! Thanks for reading, reviewing, (Rosie) following and favoriting my story. Sad thing is that I'm not working on another one yet. Real life and work are demanding my time and I haven't been inspired with an idea yet. Hopefully something will hit my brain and I can start another one soon. I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility. This story WILL have ten chapters; I mean it this time. :)_

**Chapter Eight **

Both men were relieved when the door opened and emergency medics had finally arrived on the scene. Given the piled snow, road closings and general bad traveling conditions, they actually had made good time. It had felt like hours, but in reality had only been a little better than half an hour since the call. The most delay had occurred as they followed the plow to the cabin. This had been accomplished by some Federal weight being thrown around, Derek was certain, because the road to his cabin was no where near the top of any NYDOT priority list.

Agent Burke dropped Neal's hand and yielded his position to allow the medics to attend to his friend. They worked quickly, gathering vital signs, checking the wounds in his abdomen, and starting an IV of fluids immediately. His fever was at 104.2. They were concerned and wasted no time getting him onto the stretcher and loaded into the ambulance.

Even though Derek had been sure that once the Marshals came to take off his unexpected house guest he would never see the man again, when the time actually came, he wasn't prepared for that.

"Do you mind if I tag along?" Derek asked. "After the last twelve hours, I kind of want to see it through, you know?"

"I do," Agent Burke answered, "We will have to walk back out to the highway. That is where the cars are. You can ride with me."

It was mid afternoon before Agent Burke informed Derek that Neal had finally awakened. He had offered to have an officer take him home, but Derek wanted to stay until he could speak to Neal himself. Then and only then was he prepared to leave the hospital.

The first two and a half hours, he and Agent Burke had waited to see when surgery to repair the damage to Neal's abdomen could be performed. The infection had to be managed first, and large amounts of antibiotics were being administered. Burke had seen Neal in the ICU but Derek hadn't gone back. Burke returned with coffee for both of them. The man looked as tired as Derek felt; he guessed that the agent had slept as little the night before as he had.

"He's still not awake," Burke told him. "They said its to be expected after what he's been through, plus its taking all his energy to fight the infection."

"He's going to be okay, though?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, they seem to think so," Burke answered, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Depends on how the surgery goes but they are optimistic. You did a good job with him last night and Neal's a fighter."

Derek was glad he had managed as well as he had and he could well believe that Neal was a fighter. "I can't believe he found my cabin in that storm," Derek said. "Two miles in the dark, through the woods," he shook his head, "Not to mention the condition he was in."

"Neal has a lot of skills," Burke said, "not the least of which are the ones it takes to survive."

"You said he was serving out his sentence in your custody," Derek began "How did that come about, and more interestingly, how did it turn into a friendship?" Burke had said it was complicated and Derek knew that it must be given the circumstances; technically Neal Caffrey was Agent Burke's prisoner. That wasn't the usual way friendships were established.

Derek spent the next half hour learning about Neal Caffrey and his ongoing relationship with Agent Peter Burke. Not only was Peter Burke Neal's captor now, he was also the man who had sent him to prison in the first place. The word complicated came up often.

"How could he possibly have known that?" Derek asked, learning from Burke the way the idea of the tracking device and the unconventional partnership had come up. Identifying a security fiber from a Canadian one hundred dollar bill while the formulation was still classified was impressive; but doing it having been locked in prison for four years would have required nothing sort of telepathy.

"When I asked him his answer was, 'Its what I do.' " The agent shook his head, "And I still don't know. Neal Caffrey is honestly the smartest man I have ever met. He never ceases to amaze me."

Derek knew that Burke cared for his partner, but there was also a deep respect in the man's voice. Derek recalled details of the story. "You caught him because of this girl, Kate, and he broke out of prison for her. Did things work out for them?"

Burke's face told him that was a no. "Big break-up?" Derek guessed.

"More like a big blow up," Burke said uneasily, "The plane they were leaving on exploded right in front of us. Kate was on it." He paused, apparently remembering the horrible event, "Neal would've been too if I hadn't showed up and delayed him. It was everything I could do to keep him from running into the flames after her."

Derek processed that information as he sipped his coffee. He wondered, had Neal had been seeing the love of his life die before his eyes as he thrashed on his sofa the night before? That would certainly explain the raw emotions the man had experienced. The memory of the man sobbing in his arms made the story even more heartbreaking. The weight of that event, coupled with exhaustion, caused a silence to fall between the two men.

The doctor informed then just before eleven that they were ready to go ahead with the surgery; by noon Neal was in recovery. Things had gone well during the surgery and they expected a full recovery. Burke again was the first to go back when the nurse said that Neal was waking. It was less than a half hour later that Burke came to get Derek. Just over eighteen hours after finding the man on his porch, he was finally going to be formally introduced to Neal Caffrey.


	9. Chapter 9

_Since I refuse to go back on my word AGAIN about the number of chapters, this is a **longer **one. Hope you like it okay. It was sort of a challenge to write and I guess that is why it got so long. Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing; favoriting and following. _

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. _

**Chapter Nine **

Agent Burke led the way into the room. "This is Derek Andrews," he said. "The man who saved your life."

Derek stepped into the room behind him to meet Neal Caffrey. Recovering from surgery and on pain medications, the blue eyes that studied him were still more clear than Derek had ever seen them. The open emotion he had seen in that face hours before was no longer present. After talking with Burke, he hadn't expected it to be.

"Neal Caffrey," the voice was raspy but his former house guest looked much better than he had when the medics had carried him out of the cabin. He was still pale, the skin beneath the blue eyes was dark, and the bruise covering his forehead was black. He extended a hand to Derek. It was free except for the blood pressure cup on the upper arm. The other had the IV's hooked up to it; an oxygen clip was attached to his index finger. "Pleased to meet you," He smiled politely, "but I guess I was more pleased last night. Don't really remember it, but thank you."

Derek moved closer to the bed, took the hand and shook it. "You are very welcome. Its nice to actually meet you, Neal."

"You introduced yourself to him last night as Nick," Burke explained.

"I did?" There was a momentary look of confusion on the pale face but it passed quickly. "I guess its because that's who the people who took me thought I was."

"Then you told him you were Neal," Burke informed him. "You waffled out and back all night." There was a twinkle in his eyes, " Nick, Neal, Nick, Neal."

"I _waffled_?" Astonished blue eyes turned to Derek. Apparently Neal Caffrey didn't waffle under any circumstances. "Did I really?"

"Well, yes, but you weren't exactly yourself." Derek immediately rethought his choice of words at the snort of laughter from Burke and the pained look on the young man's face. "I mean," he corrected, "you were injured and running a high fever."

"Never thought I would see the day," Burke shook his head in mock sadness, "when the great Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinare, would be unable to keep his story straight."

The look of incredulous disbelief the younger man sent to the agent made Derek smile. "Excuse me," he said, hand gesturing at himself, "Multiple stab wounds and a concussion. A pardonable lapse, I would think."

"Not even a story, really," Burke continued, "Just your name. And you couldn't keep it straight."

"Infection and the fever were also factors," Derek supplied, attempting to make up for the _you weren't yourself_ comment. The pale face was suddenly transformed by a bright smile. The look was one of triumph, pleased at having gained Derek as an ally against Burke. Derek got the impression that these two enjoyed one upping each other and that the competition could at times become ruthless. He tried to reconcile that to the image of the two of them earlier at the cabin.

"See, multiple stab wounds, concussion, Infection _and_ fever. Pardonable," Neal reiterated. "And no reflection what so ever on my conman extraordinaire status." He spoke to Derek again. "Thanks for saving me-twice. Once from death," his blue eyes danced with mischief as he regarded his friend, "and again from being ridiculed by Agent Burke as I lay here recovering from my near death experience."

Derek's eyebrow raised slightly at hearing Neal call his friend Agent Burke. Not one time in the many hours he had spent with the man had he called him that. It had always been Peter. Had he called him Agent Burke, much of Derek's confusion would have been avoided. But now apparently it was Agent Burke. He wasn't sure if it was a formality for his benefit or not.

"Again, you are quite welcome," Derek said "on both counts. It was an interesting way to spend the evening hours, I must say."

"Interesting?" Neal scoffed. "I doubt that. Usually I am quite interesting, but as you said, I wasn't myself." He grimaced at the phrase and the memory that came with it, "I _waffled_. Did I do anything else that I'm likely to hear about?" His eyes briefly flitted to Agent Burke. Derek smiled at the teasing tone of voice but also picked up on the not-so-teasing look in the blue eyes.

It was a subtle look of unease; part expression and part body language. Derek had learned from Agent Burke the basics of Neal's story. He knew that the young man had a talent for keeping a confident demeanor at all times and that it was a rare occasion for that façade to slip. Even obviously not at the top of his game, the expression was almost imperceptible. Had Derek not spent so much time with the man, and had he not genuinely been studying his reactions closely, he would have never seen it.

How much Neal remembered about the hours spent in the cabin was unclear. But during that time his façade had more than slipped; it had fallen completely away. He had been bothered that he waffled and was concerned about any other deviations from usual behavior. Pardonable or not, the man clearly didn't like lapses in his usual ability to remain in control.

"Not really," Derek didn't lie; Neal may had sobbed in his arms but he wouldn't hear about that from anyone. Derek knew he would be mortified those moments of absolute vulnerability. "You didn't say much." He looked at the young man curiously. One aspect of Neal's deviation from the usual he was willing to explore. "Except to brag on your friend here. You had complete confidence that he would find you. I half expected him to arrive in tights and a cape."

That elicited a smile from Burke and a blush of color from Neal before he rolled his eyes, "Of course I had total confidence that Peter would find me: I come equipped with a GPS tracking device. Anyone with the appropriate app on their phone could have found me."

"Speaking of," Burke returned to where his jacket lay. "Now that you have finished with all your shenanigans here in the hospital, it is time to re-equip you with said device." He held up the tracking device which had apparently been removed it at some point after Neal's arrival at the hospital. There was a smugness to his expression; a response, Derek felt sure, to Neal's sarcasm.

Neal again rolled his eyes, and stuck his leg out from the covers. The movement caused him to grunt in pain and the look of smugness on Burke's face melted in an instant to one of concern. Neal quickly regained his composure, giving Burke a nod of reassurance. There between them for just a moment, Derek saw a shadow of what he had seen before. Again, it was almost imperceptible.

"Only you would refer to MRI's and surgery as shenanigans." Neal commented wryly. Burke fastened the tracker to Neal's ankle. Derek got the distinct impression the tracking device was not Neal's favorite accessory and that Agent Burke was well aware of it. Still, Neal's expression as he watched the agent fasten it to his ankle showed ambivalence. Derek wasn't the only one who noticed it.

"You were actually glad you had this on yesterday, weren't you?" Burke commented.

"For once, yes." Neal confessed. "I knew you would track it and come sav…" He stopped suddenly, a flash of something in his face that reminded Derek of the night before. But it was quickly gone, "come find me." He finished. Derek knew he had been going to say _'come save me'_. That was the theme he had picked up on last night; Neal knew Peter would come save him. From his attacker, from the Marshals. From anything apparently and he didn't think a blizzard would stop the man. It wasn't fevered delirium that produced Neal's confidence in Peter: It was how he truly felt. And he felt it now. The raging fever only allowed him to express it. And he had shown that trust this morning to this very man. And this morning, this very man had held his hand, stroked his head, and spoke soft and comforting words to him. But now, the fever under control, Neal's emotions were as well. Derek felt sure Burke had caught the waiver of feeling in his friends eyes but no soft or comforting words were forthcoming.

"You better believe it. I will always track you down," Burke's tone was anything but soft, having finished his task, he pulled the blanket back over Neal's leg. "I will not have you disappearing on my watch. I would never hear the end of it. If they didn't fire me, they would definitely demote me. I'd probably be sitting at your desk, you know, as far from a position of power as you can get."

Neal grinned, the banter between the men alleviating his discomfort. "It's not bad. Near the door, convenient for coffee runs." He looked at Derek, explaining "Office coffee? Outside coffee runs are a _must_." Back to Burke, "And my rubber band ball is in the drawer. Tossing it helps you focus while sorting out those refreshing and stimulating mortgage fraud cases." His tone suggested he felt about mortgage fraud the way he did office coffee. Not a fan.

"You keep the rubber band ball and I will keep my office upstairs." Burke replied. Derek watched and listened as the two men talked, and marveled at how different their relationship seemed now as opposed to this morning.

Derek knew very well how Neal felt about Agent Burke, but had he not seen it before with his own eyes, nothing in the exchange between them now would have indicated the dept of that feeling. And the same could be said of Agent Burke. Had he not seen the gentle care in which he had treated Neal only that morning, he wouldn't have believed it. In this room, he teased and needled the younger man.

Burke had told him at the cabin that Neal was like a son to him. With that in mind he had replayed Neal's behavior during those long hours. Under extreme duress, Neal relied on Peter more as a father than a partner or even a friend. He had been like a kid in trouble, trusting that his dad would come and help him and Peter had arrived on the scene in just that capacity. That was the way that Derek had experienced their relationship: a trusting son and a protective father.

But now that Neal's façade was mostly back in place, Agent Burke's was as well. Their relationship now presented as that of partners and friends, but there was a tension at times between them that indicated the relationship of prisoner and keeper as well. Derek knew the emotional relationship between these two was strong, but he could tell that expressing it in any honest way was a problem for then both. He indicated to Burke that he was indeed ready to get back to his cabin, hopefully to sleep for twenty four straight hours.

"I am glad you are going to be okay, Neal" Derek said, reaching over and squeezing the man's shoulder. The familiarity of the gesture produced an awkward, almost embarrassed look on the young man's face. Derek smiled, reminding himself that the twelve hours he had spent bonding with Neal hadn't been a mutual thing. He also knew full well that outward expressions of emotions were not something that Neal Caffrey usually engaged in. This being said, the blue eyes that met his showed genuine gratitude.

"Thank you," Neal's said quietly, "And thank you again for saving my life."

"You are very welcome," Derek answered. "It has been a real pleasure to meet you, Neal Caffrey." _Both of you_, he added in his head.


	10. Chapter 10

_Don't judge me. One more chapter after this. Will I EVER say how many chapters a story will have again? Not a chance._

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. _

**Chapter Ten **

"So," Agent Burke began, "what did you think about the real Neal Caffrey?"

"The _real_ Neal Caffrey?" Derek smiled, "I think I already met him, but this version was interesting, I must say." Derek answered, "Having met him while he was half out of his mind, I expected he would present differently when more in control of his facilities, and I was not disappointed. Meeting the real Agent Burke, however, was far more surprising."

The Agent actually stopped in his tracks. "What?" He asked, looking at Derek in surprise of his own.

"Neal's behavior was affected by his physical condition." He watched the agent's face. "He had a fever of 104 when you came into the cabin this morning and I know it was higher than that during the night. I am aware the transparent boy I met last night, and that you saw this morning, is a rare side of Neal Caffrey. But you, Agent Burke, why so different?"

The man looked utterly confused. "What are you talking about?"

"The man you were in there," Derek gestured back towards the room, "Was not the man in my cabin this morning." Derek paused, "I was in law enforcement for thirty years and I know something about keeping a tough exterior. I was so good at it that I have been divorced twice. Does he know?" Derek asked.

"Does he know what?"

"Does he know how much he means to you, really?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "It complicated."

"So you keep telling me. It just seems that you have an unfair advantage," Derek said, "You know how he feels about you; I told you and he didn't exactly hide it this morning. But what about him? Does he ever see that side of you?" At the agents look he added hastily, "I mean, when he is in his right mind and will remember it later?"

"He has," Burke said, "at times. It's just awkward for him." At Derek's raised eyebrows, he continued. "Okay, maybe for both of us. There was a time when, well, again complicated, but we hadn't seen each other in a while and I was really worried about him. When I saw him, I could tell he was just as glad to see me as I was to see him and I hugged him." Burke shrugged, "He just stiffened up, like he didn't know how to respond. He covered, that's what Neal does, but he was uncomfortable."

Derek nodded, "I noticed a similar reaction when I squeezed his shoulder." He paused, remembering his discussion with Agent Burke as they awaited word on Neal. "He started this life of crime awfully early. I don't know what his childhood was like but maybe he's not had a lot of experience with people caring about him." Derek could tell by the look in Burke's face that this was probably true. It was his turn to shrug. "Just because it makes him uncomfortable to tell him you care doesn't mean that he doesn't need to hear it," He paused again, thinking back to his own failed marriages. "Everyone needs to know they are cared for, Agent Burke," he smiled, "Even Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinaire."

Burke had called an officer to take Derek back to Southfield and he continued out with him to meet his ride. As they parted, he held out his hand to Derek, thanking him for everything he had done. Derek took it and again said he had been glad to help. Derek opened the door to the cruiser but turned back to Burke.

"He didn't even knock," Derek said. At Burke's questioning look he explained, "At my door last night. He didn't knock-He didn't make it to the door." Derek remembered the bump he had heard on his porch; a bump he almost ignored. "There was just a bump. I guess when he fell. I almost didn't open the door."

The expression on Burke's face showed that he had gotten Derek's point. It had been a miracle that Neal had survived the storm at all.

"I almost lost him last night, didn't I?" This Burke was the man he met this morning; The man who thought of Neal Caffrey as a son.

"If I hadn't opened the door, or if I had been in the other room and not heard the bump, I would have found him dead on my porch this morning."

Derek could almost see the agent processing how differently this day would have been had that been the case. "Thank you seems so small for what you did," Burke said simply.

"If that had happened, would Neal have died not knowing how you feel about him?" He shook his head, "If you really want to thank me, Agent Burke, make sure he knows. Don't just assume he does, _tell_ him." He looked at Burke, his voice serious. "I don't care how uncomfortable it makes either one of you. Tell him. You never know when you won't have the chance again."

The bright sun reflecting on the mass of whiteness from the storm made Peter's eyes burn. That, and the fact that he hadn't slept but about three hours the night before, caused him to close his eyes tightly for just a moment after the patrol car pulled away. He remembered how long the night had seemed, even after he had lay down next to Elizabeth, he had felt a coldness that seemed to penetrate his bones. He kept thinking about Neal out in the storm, freezing with no one looking for him; no one coming to help him. He had been so relieved to learn that Neal had found shelter, so relieved to have found him alive that he hadn't given the circumstances in which that had occurred much thought. But what Derek had said to him had made him feel a heaviness in the pit of his stomach at how easily things could have gone differently.

He had said his good byes to Neal when he had left the room with Derek, planning to call it a day himself and go home. Elizabeth was waiting on him to catch her up on Neal's condition, and he wanted to get into some sweats and relax. And sleep would be good, too. But the words Derek had said to him on his departure wouldn't let him leave. He turned an went back into the hospital.

_I don't care how uncomfortable it makes either one of you; _Peter remembered those words as he walked back to Neal. Neal had acted fine while Derek had been in the room, but Peter knew that it had taken a lot out of him. By the end of the visit, Peter had seen exhaustion in the blue eyes. Those eyes were closed now but opened when Peter entered the room. "Forget something?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Peter admitted, approaching his friend who now looked concerned as well as exhausted. "You look rough." That wasn't what Peter meant to say but it was what came out of his mouth.

"Tough night," Neal quipped, then "I don't know if you've looked in a mirror lately but you look pretty rough yourself."

"Tough night," echoed Peter. "Derek said that you didn't knock on the door last night."

"Okay, I didn't knock on the door." Neal clearly saw no relevance to that statement and waited for clarification.

"When you fell on the porch, it made a bump," Peter continued, "Derek thought it was just the wind and almost didn't open the door."

"Glad he did," Neal said, watching Peter closely. "What is it, Peter?"

_I don't care how uncomfortable it makes either one of you._

"You easily could have died last night, Neal." The distress in his voice brought a strange look to his friends face. Not uncomfortable. Pleasantly surprised maybe.

When Neal spoke his voice was soft, "But I didn't Peter, I'm alright."

"I know," Peter exhaled the breath he had been holding. "I was so worried, then so glad to see you lying on that sofa. But you were in such bad shape…." He felt his throat tighten and his voice trailed off; He looked away awkwardly. He felt Neal grab his hand and he looked up at him in surprise.

"I'm okay, Peter," Neal said again, "Thanks for coming for me," Neal added. "I knew you would. The whole time, I knew I just had to stay alive long enough for you to find me." With a squeeze, Neal let his hand drop. This time it was Neal who looked away.

That morning, Peter had comforted Neal and now Neal was returning the gesture, maybe a little awkwardly but that was to be expected. But still, Peter hadn't said what he came in to say.

"I _will_ always find you, but not just because you are in my custody." He waited until Neal looked at him and he met those blue eyes with sincerity, "I found you because I knew you were in danger and I couldn't get to you fast enough." He paused again. "You mean _a lot_ to me, Neal, probably more than you know, more than I say. I don't know what I would have done if Derek hadn't found you on his porch last night."

Peter's words had touched Neal; it was clear. Both touched and taken him off guard. He swallowed. It took him a moment to find his voice and when he did, it was strained. "You definitely need some sleep, Peter."

His statement broke the tension and Peter smiled at the deflection, knowing that Neal was at a loss as to how to respond to his confession. Neal was uncomfortable when someone expressed genuine care for him, but Peter knew that Derek was right. Just because it made him uncomfortable-made both of them uncomfortable-didn't mean Neal didn't need to hear it and he didn't need to say it.

Peter had said what he came back to say. If Derek hadn't opened the door last night Peter would have had to live with the regret of things unsaid for the rest of his life. He reached out and ruffled the young man's hair affectionately. "So do you, Neal. I'll see you tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

_This finishes it off. Thanks to all for reading and reviewing, following and favoriting. _

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Eleven**

Derek was greeted by what he recognized immediately as the polished version of Neal Caffrey. His smile was bright as he rose from the table. He was wearing a gray suit; a white button down collared shirt and a thin black tie with a gold clip. The folds of a crisp white handkerchief extended from his right jacket pocket. A black fedora sat on the table he had just risen from. He was a picture of elegance.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, Mr. Andrews." His extended hand shook Derek's with a firm grasp. "My options for travel are somewhat limited." Derek smiled in returned, taking his seat as Neal returned to his.

"Yes, I remember," Derek said. "You look much better than you did the last time I saw you."

"My wardrobe has improved too," Neal said easily, handing Derek a menu and opening one of his own. "I think it was a blue print hospital gown that opened in the back I was wearing the last time."

"You didn't have to do this you know," Derek said after the waiter had brought drinks and taken their order. "You have thanked me already, as did your friend Agent Burke."

"I know," Neal replied, "But I wanted to do more than just say thank you. Even buying dinner isn't much of a payment for saving my life."

The food was excellent, and the conversation was remarkably comfortable. The subject matter moved from restaurant reviews to police work to the New York art scene; all subjects in which Neal Caffrey was well versed. Burke had said that Neal was the smartest man he had ever met and Derek could believe it. He was not only smart, but he was also well read and up to date on a variety of topics. Derek doubted that the man ever just relaxed; he was the kind whose mind had to have constant stimulation. Otherwise he would be bored.

At the end of the meal, Derek detected a slight change. Neal's entertaining, almost playful, demeanor shifted to a more serious one. "I don't remember much about the night I was stabbed," he began, carefully maintaining eye contact with Derek "but over the last week, I have gotten some brief flashes of being at your cabin."

Derek was surprised. Not so much that Neal remembered bits of that night but that he would bring them up. He knew that version of Neal was not one the man embraced. He waited on Neal to continue.

"I'm afraid I might not have been the ideal patient," Derek smiled at the slightly apologetic look on the young face.

"You weren't that difficult and given the circumstances everything you did was completely…."

"Pardonable?" Neal finished, eyebrow raised.

"Understandable." Derek wasn't sure what part of the night Neal was remembering and unless he named specifics Derek wasn't going to volunteer any information.

"All I remember is feeling…." Neal paused; only a brief flicker of discomfort crossed the man's face "Upset. And you told me you were there to help me; that everything would be okay."

"Yes, I did," Derek answered, trying to read the face of the man across from him. Was he fishing for more information, afraid of what he had revealed about himself? If he had been hard to read at the hospital, he was impossible now. There was a definite pause before Neal spoke again.

"Thank you for that." The sincerity of the words, and the underlying emotion beneath them told Derek immediately that this was the reason for the dinner. Neal had thanked him for saving his life, but this was thanks for something else altogether. Neal knew he hadn't been at his best, and when he had needed consolation Derek had given it.

"You're welcome, Neal," Derek replied, watching him closely. He could see the man debating saying something else; something that hadn't been on his original script for the conversation. Derek never doubted that there had been a script.

"And thank you for whatever you said to Peter, too."

Apparently the script had been readjusted. It was Derek's turn to raise his eyebrows in question.

"He told me goodbye when he left with you," Neal explained, "Then he came back in to…." He paused slightly "to talk to me-to tell me something." His eyes met Derek's. "I know it was because you said something to him."

"I just reminded him of what he said to me," He answered truthfully. Since he had told Burke about the waffling, he didn't feel bad about disclosing this information to Neal. "He told me that you were like a son to him."

"Really?" Neal looked a bit bewildered.

"Really," Derek answered, "And that was exactly the impression I got of him when he found you in my cabin that morning."

The young man seemed to take that in. "And you reminded him of that?"

"No, I reminded him of how close you came to dying that night and told him that if you didn't know how much he cared about you, he needed to tell you."

"Well, he did," he admitted. "It was very uncharacteristic of him. I didn't know what to say." Neal looked sheepishly at Derek, "I told him to get some rest."

Derek smiled. He could imagine the awkwardness of that exchange but was glad Burke had taken his words to heart and had talked to Neal anyway.

"Uncharacteristic, huh?" Derek asked, already knowing the answer, "He doesn't express a fatherly attitude often then?"

"Maybe that of an irritated one," Neal scoffed with feigned indifference, "disappointed by what he sees as poor decision-making and irresponsible actions."

"Some fathers are better reading their kids the riot act for what they do wrong than they are at telling them what they do right," Derek said. He knew that Burke's opinion mattered to Neal whether he showed it or not. "He sees the things you do right, too."

"I _hope_ so," The longing in that quiet statement caught Derek momentarily off guard. It was the only crack in Neal's facade of self-assurance that had appeared during the entire conversation.

"I know so," Derek said with confidence. Neal nodded, then gave his attention to his pie. Whatever Burke had said to Neal about his feelings hadn't been as straightforward as Derek had just put it. If Derek had to guess, he would guess that Neal was averting his eyes as he processed the conversation. Since the script had been abandoned, he didn't have planned responses or reactions. He needed a few moments to regroup. When Neal met Derek's eyes again he was back in his usual state; cool, collected and unaffected. He was the picture of ease and confidence and Derek could see how he had earned the title of conman extraordinaire.

Again, hands were shook, thanks given and received. Just when Derek thought the man had finished and was ready to go, he turned suddenly and looked at him again. Perhaps the façade wasn't as firmly in place as Derek had thought.

"He really said I was like a _son_ to him?" The voice was both tentative and hopeful.

"Yes, Neal, he really did."

A smile of genuine pleasure suddenly covered the young face. "That was worth being stabbed to hear." He flipped the fedora in his hand and placed it on his head. "It has been a real pleasure, Mr. Andrews."

"Likewise, Mr. Caffrey."

When Neal Caffrey walked away, there was a spring in his step that could only be attributed to happiness.


End file.
